I laughed to myself upon waking up this morning, because I realized that my sister and I had never slept in the same room before last night. Three decades and it takes the impending death of our father to have that happen. We slept a room across from my dad's in the nursing home, each taking a spot in an extra-long twin bed with maroon blankets. I'd forgotten to pack a nightgown, so I slept in a hospital gown. The whole thing would be ridiculous if it weren't appropriate (I was bandaged underneath) and sad (for obvious reasons).
It has been another long day, and now my mother is sleeping in the bed where I slept last night. It's like an exhausting version of musical chairs, but it is a quiet gift to be with my father during his last days.
It has been another long day, and now my mother is sleeping in the bed where I slept last night. It's like an exhausting version of musical chairs, but it is a quiet gift to be with my father during his last days.
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